


Crescendo

by courtroses



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: How They Met, M/M, Pre-Canon, marvin met whizzer at a gay bar after days of staring at him au, then they dance and hook up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 01:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11703528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courtroses/pseuds/courtroses
Summary: Marvin doesn’t know why he keeps coming to the bar at 9 P.M.Why he keeps ordering a beer to only drink half of it before leaving.Or why the man with the long legs and confident grin and perfect hair always manages to make Marvin stare at him, unabashed, from across the bar.





	Crescendo

**Author's Note:**

> I really needed to fully realize how I imagine the two meeting, so I wrote this. Enjoy!

Marvin doesn’t know what he’s doing here. His hands visibly shake on his thighs, wedding ring glinting obnoxiously from the bright strobe lights. Music pours from the club’s speakers, songs from another decade, songs that make Marvin think of tropical vacations he’s never been on. The small club nearly vibrates from the music and the lights and the drinks and the dancing and the people dancing to the music with drinks in their hands, lights cascading in small rivulets over their moving bodies.

He has no idea what he’s doing in a gay bar at 10 P.M. He doesn’t know what compelled him to drive straight to the small hole in the wall, hands gripping the steering wheel much too hard. It might have been the small advert he saw in the newspaper last week, black and white ink describing an alternative lifestyle bar in far too little words for Marvin to be sure of exactly what it was. 

That might have caused Marvin to feel on edge for the rest of the week, staring at the torn out advert on his desk at work. Caused Marvin to tell his wife after dinner that he had to go out with some work colleagues at 9 P.M., something about networking with some brands or some shit. Caused him to ignore the strained look on his wife’s face as she gave him the okay and went to bed after doing the dishes.

He doesn’t know why he’s here, but the fact remains that he’s currently sitting at some table off to the side of the dance floor, with a direct view of the bar. He got a drink at the bar, some nameless brand of beer that the bartender claimed is only sold at select bars, this being one of them. It tastes like every other beer in the world. After he got his drink, he promptly paid and made a beeline to the closest table, avoiding any potential eye contact with anyone on his way there.

Now he’s sitting in the exact same spot he has been for the past hour. Marvin sits there, watching the dance floor. He shifts in his seat as his eyes cautiously rake over two men dancing on eachother, bright colored drinks nearly spilling as they gyrate. 

Marvin is a mixture of amazed and confused at how forthcoming these men are, dancing and moving together with no shame. He doesn’t get it. He wants to. 

Fuck, he doesn’t belong here.

Marvin, still in his work jacket and trousers, moves to get up but abruptly stops at the sight of a figure walking to the bar. The man is wearing a pale green button up shirt and tight, brown pants that wrap around his immensely long legs that fucking strut as he sidles up to the bar, waving at the bartender, who promptly hands him a pink colored drink. 

The booth against Marvin’s back feels too artificial now, like a plastic box digging into his spine. He finds himself sinking into it, though, watching the man at the bar.

The man has now taken a seat at one of the stools at the bar, taking long drinks as his eyes scan the bar, a smile in his eyes. Now that he’s more or less in direct view of Marvin, Marvin manages to get a good look at the man. 

His face is angular, almost sharp, but the soft planes of his flushed cheeks make up for the dramatics of it all. The green shirt looks even tighter than it did from the back, stretching across his chest. Marvin averts his eyes before he gets caught staring and sips his beer, looking down at the table.

The music plays just as loudly as before, but it seems subdued now.

Of course, it only takes a few seconds for Marvin to look back up at the man, only to see he had gotten up. The man walks back into the dance floor, leaving his, now empty, drink on the counter. Marvin’s eyes stay glued onto the man until he vanishes from sight, back into the sea of proud men, which Marvin could never hope to sail in.

Marvin leaves his drink at the table as he walks out of the bar, mind fuzzy and pants feeling tight.

 

* * *

 

Marvin comes back to the bar the next night at 9 P.M. on the dot, searching for something. Something to scratch that itch he’s been ailed with. For the man in the green shirt and tight, brown pants.

He sits at the same table, the same beer in his hands, which shake considerably less now. His ring shines a little less tonight.

The man isn’t at the bar.

He curses to himself, mentally. He gave his wife another work excuse, claiming the brand they met with were interested and wanted a follow up. At 9 P.M.

He feels like an idiot for returning.

Marvin moves to look at the dance floor, and like magic, the man is there, in front of Marvin, facing just away from him so Marvin can see his profile. Marvin sets his beer down and watches the man dance. He’s not in the green shirt tonight, which Marvin mourns.

He’s in a pink polo shirt, with tan pants. His arms are bare, muscles flexing as he moves. His hair is styled upward, almost immaculately. He looks like everything someone like Marvin should be disgusted by. 

Marvin’s mouth goes dry at the sight of the man.

He’s dancing against another, larger man, back facing his partner. A drink is carefully held in his left hand as his hips roll back onto the other man whom Marvin has barely noticed. A small smirkish smile adorns his face, eyes closed. The two move to the beat of the music.

They look like one body, moving like that. With their long, fluid movements that make Marvin internally curse his lack of dancing skills.

Then, the man in the pink polo turns around to face his partner. He shifts the mood of the dance, pressing his body against the larger man. The large man leans down and kisses the man in the pink polo, who enthusiastically reciprocates, keeping his hands, one still holding the drink, at his sides. 

Their lips slide and tongues come into play, the larger man resting his hands on the other’s hips.

Marvin watches while gripping his beer tightly. He swallows thickly, watching them. If he were in the larger man’s position, he would reach his hands behind the other’s head, gripping his hair and tugging, so the man in the pink polo would drop his drink and wrap his arms around Marvin’s neck. Marvin would respond by slotting their hips together, thrusting forward so the man in the pink polo would gasp and push forward, fingers playing with Marvin’s hair at the nape of his neck.

He nearly spills his beer, he gets up so fast. Marvin leaves the bar, shoving his arms into his coat and getting into his small car. He breathes heavily, sitting in his car, gripping the steering wheel. His eyes glance over at the clock. 10:24 P.M. He closes his eyes.

Marvin doesn’t notice the two men stumbling out of the bar, climbing into a red car between kisses.

 

* * *

 

Marvin doesn’t know why he keeps coming to the bar at 9 P.M. Why he keeps ordering a beer to only drink half of it before leaving. Why the man with the long legs and confident grin and perfect hair always manages to make Marvin stare at him, unabashed, from across the bar.

He’s not wearing the green shirt or pink polo or the black leather jacket from yesterday. He has a white shirt on now. How he manages to keep it as clean as it looks is beyond Marvin. 

It makes Marvin self conscious of the wrinkled button up and tan slacks he’s in currently. 

Marvin decides, fuck it, and walks to the bar. Of course, he goes to the far right side of the bar, around ten stools away from the intoxicating man. He calls for the bartender, who walks to Marvin.

“Another beer, please.”

The bartender nods and walks away. Marvin looks down at his hands, determined not to look at the man. He fidgets with his ring, turning the shiny piece of silver several times, feeling the smooth surface. They didn’t bother to get it engraved.

Then, the bartender returns with another bottle of beer. Marvin reaches for his wallet but he’s stopped, “The gentleman across the bar has covered the cost.” The bartender smiles knowingly as he hands it to a pale Marvin.

The pounding music seems to sound dull compared to Marvin’s pounding heart as he turns to the man in the white shirt and black pants across the bar. He’s smirking in that way when Marvin first saw him. And, oh god, he’s walking towards Marvin.

Marvin finds himself slipping his left hand into his pocket and sliding the ring off.

The man sits on the stool next to Marvin, facing him. He looks even better up close, damn it.

“Wanna dance?” He asks, fingers brushing against Marvin’s forearm on the bar counter.

Marvin freezes, mind only focusing on the feeling of the man’s fingers touching his forearm, giving him goosebumps all along his arm. And, his voice. It’s slightly high pitched, but seductive in its nature. Chills run up and down Marvin’s spine.

And despite Marvin’s better judgement, he nods.

The fingers that were previously brushing up and down Marvin’s arm grip him and pull him off of the stool. The man smiles wider now, teeth visible as he leads Marvin to the dance floor.

Marvin can still feel his heart beating frantically. But, once his feet step onto the black, tiled dance floor, he feels a shift. The staccato cadence of his heart suddenly turns into something much deeper, now resembling the rumbling bass of the music surrounding the crowd of dancing men. He has no time to decide if he likes the shift when the man in the white shirt turns to face Marvin.

The song is a slower song, but not of the slow songs that belong in a sad high school prom held in the gymnasium, teenagers awkwardly holding one another. No, it’s more a thump-thumping sound that plays under crooning singers and an exhilarating melody that reminds Marvin of lovers holding each other under a faded streetlamp at 2 in the morning.

The man in the white shirt and intoxicating smile moves his hand from Marvin’s arm and places both of them on Marvin’s hips, stepping closer. While he quickly puts his hands on the man’s shoulders, Marvin catches the scent of the man’s cologne. 

He smells clean, no scent of musk that most men have in their colognes, but of pine and comfort. Marvin tentatively moves his arms so they wrap around the man in the white shirt’s neck, pulling the two even closer, centimeters from touching. Marvin should feel uncomfortable. He’d only been this close to his wife on their wedding day, but he finds himself feeling-- in place. 

They sway, Marvin following the man’s movements. The man with the immaculate hair and bright eyes leans forward and murmurs in Marvin’s ear, “I know you’re not the dancing type,” he pulls back for a second, eyes burning into Marvin’s, “So, we can just get out of here before you embarrass yourself.” He says with a teasing lilt to his voice.

Marvin laughs quietly despite his palms growing clammy at the man’s proposition, “You think I can’t dance?”

The man with the trailing hands up Marvin’s sides smiles wider, “From what I’ve seen, I think I’m pretty accurate.”

“From what you’ve seen?”

“I’ve seen you sitting over there,” the man tilts his head toward the booth Marvin had sat in for the past week, “Just watching.” He steps closer, “Watching me.” The right side of his lip twitches, like he knows how pathetic Marvin is for bailing on his wife every night just to fucking stare at a stranger.

“So, you’ve noticed.” Marvin finds himself more confident in this moment than he had ever been flirting with any woman.

The man who steps even closer, pressing their hips together, causing both of them to quietly gasp, hoping the other doesn’t notice, and replies, “I also noticed the wedding ring.” 

Marvin’s throat feels tight now, shoulders tense, “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he nods, smile leaving his face, a devilish look replacing it, “And I figured, if you were still here watching me a week in, it doesn’t really matter.” He grinds his hips forward, making Marvin tighten his arms around the man’s neck and moan, “does it?”

“No.” Marvin says after a few moments. And that’s all the other man needed.

The man in the green--pink--white shirt captures Marvin’s lips with his own, fingers digging into Marvin’s hips. Marvin finally runs his fingers through the man’s hair, shocked at the softness. The two stop swaying, caught up in the kiss. Marvin grips the man’s hair and tugs.

The man makes a soft, keening sound, hips jerking forward. He parts Marvin’s lips with his tongue and the kiss heats, deepens. Marvin can’t remember a time he had kissed someone like this. After so many years with Trina, it stopped feeling like anything, like an unnecessary habit they had to do. God, this is so different. So much better.

Marvin bites the man’s bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth. The man with the mouth that tastes like earl grey tea and cheap mixed drinks moans quietly. He pulls away, eyes dark. 

“Let’s get out of here.”

 

* * *

 

After some arguing between kisses about where to go; Marvin protesting against his house for obvious reasons, and the man with a sharp argumentative voice saying he never takes people to his place, Marvin drove to a hotel he frequented when he and his work buddies actually had to work overnight on a pitch.

The drive was short, but it felt hours long. The man with his hand on Marvin’s thigh kneaded the soft flesh, causing Marvin to try and focus even harder on the road.

The music playing from the car speakers is incredibly different from the club’s. This was present day, slow rock music. It soothes Marvin after a day of work or after a morning at the house. He can tell the other man doesn’t approve. Marvin doesn’t care.

They pull up into the hotel parking lot and the man unbuckling his seatbelt looks at the hotel, “Fuck.”

Marvin turns his head questioningly, “What?”

The man with the reddening face shakes his head, “Nothing, you just took me to a four star hotel to fuck.” He opens the car door, “No big deal.”

The two walk into the hotel, a careful few feet apart in such a public setting. Marvin quickly checks in, putting a hundred dollar bill on the counter, taking the keycard, and leads the man into the elevator.

The elevator doors aren’t even completely closed before the man is on Marvin again, pushing him against the metallic walls and trailing kisses down his neck.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” Marvin says, strained, gripping the collar of the man’s shirt in his fists. 

“Is that so?” The man hums against Marvin’s throat.

“Yes, as a matter of fact-” The man shuts Marvin up with another kiss. And whatever stupid explanation Marvin had flies out of the window.

The elevator stops at their floor and the two break apart, hurrying down the hall. Marvin loosens his tie and the man untucks his shirt.

They arrive at the door and Marvin pulls the keycard out of his pocket hurriedly, struggling to insert it into the lock. The door finally opens and the man drags Marvin in by his tie, closing the door behind them.

 

* * *

 

Marvin wakes up in the middle of the night in an unfamiliar room. He hears the distant sound of crickets chirping and running water from the lobby’s large fountain. His eyes squint open at the sound of movement next to him, though. He sees the man struggling to get his briefs back on in the center of the room and grins.

“Hey.”

The man with only briefs on startles, turning to Marvin. “Hey.” He responds.

“Where’re you going?” Marvin sits up before yawning, blankets still draped around his legs.

The man with a confused look on his face looks at the door and at Marvin, “Uh.” He says, “You know,” he trails off.

The room is dark, save for the small table lamp the man standing by the door must’ve turned on. It highlights the man’s legs very well. Recovering from the grogginess of a few hours of sleep, Marvin realizes what’s happening. Then, he gets up, walking to the pile of clothes he left behind on the floor and grabs his pants.

The man with a soft, thoughtful frown on his face watches Marvin as he takes his business card out of his pants and hands it to the man. “If you’re going,” Marvin says, “Call me, at least.”

The man, with his mouth slightly open in confusion, holds the business card, reading it. Then he grins softly.

“Marvin, huh?” He says.

Marvin walks back to the bed, laying back down. He watches the man. “Yeah.” He says before closing his eyes and settling back into the covers, ready to sleep.

After a few silent moments, Marvin nearly falls asleep. Then, he feels the bed shift, the man getting back in. He wraps his arm around Marvin’s bare torso, resting his head in the crook of Marvin’s neck, allowing Marvin to breathe in his scent. It’s different now; still pine, but also sweat and sex and passion.

“I’m Whizzer.”

Marvin opens his eyes slightly, glancing down, “Whizzer, huh?”

“Yeah.” And it’s silent.

Marvin closes his eyes again. Feels the weight of the other man settling on him, trying to fall back asleep. Marvin doesn’t know how life will continue after this night. How he will explain his absence through the night to his small family. What excuse he will make up now. But he finds himself not caring in the slightest, hoping to stay in this night forever. He finds himself dozing off, the feeling of soft lips touching his neck and even softer hair brushing his cheek.

Whizzer.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please comment what you thought! :)
> 
> tumblr: courtroses


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